Words on a Page
by craftyjhawk
Summary: When Booth is emptying his office desk, he discovers a long-forgotten piece of his past. *future fic*
1. Chapter 1

He knew this day had been coming. Retirement was inevitable, especially when working for the federal government. Knowing it was coming and being prepared for it are two different things, however. Brennan had suggested having someone do this for him, but he wanted to pack his office himself. After ten years as the deputy director, he had filled his office with souvenirs, knick knacks, tchotchkes, or maybe more appropriately, hoardings. He intended to spend the day wallowing in sentimentality as he packed these little pieces of his life, deciding what to keep and what to toss.

Starting with the flat surfaces of his office, he wrapped photos and awards, carefully placing them in the boxes he had brought for that purpose. Next to be boxed were items like his bobble-headed bobby, magic eight ball and mini Stanley cup. He had collected so many souvenirs from their trips to China, Africa, Australia and many more placed he couldn't name. Realizing that if he stopped to reminisce over every piece he would be there for weeks, he began to wrap and pack more purposefully.

With that job complete, he moved to the walls. Removing each framed item, he wrapped them in bubble wrap before placing them in the special divided boxes that Brennan had located at a moving supply company. Walls cleared, his office no longer looked like his. It had reverted to a generic office in a generic office building. All of his 'Boothy' touches had been removed.

Sitting in his desk chair, he moved on to the task he had been dreading. Weeding through the files to determine what was personal and what remained at the FBI would be time consuming, to say the least. He methodically went through each drawer, sorting as he went. His desk now covered in stacks of files, trashcan overflowing, boxes filled to the brim, he opened the rarely-opened bottom drawer. Pulling out files of newspaper clippings, photos, notes, he made his way down to the last item in his desk. He had forgotten about the stack of papers, a few inches thick, bound together with four rubber bands, two horizontally, two vertically.

Leaning back in his chair, he stared at the top page, plucking at the rubber bands, debating whether to remove them or just toss the whole thing in the trash. Taking a deep breath, decision made, he removed the bands and then the blank page they rested on. Staring at the second page, he mouthed the words to himself.

_Love, Loss and War_

_By S. J. B._

Releasing the breath he was holding, he turned to the next page.

_To TB, my partner and friend_

After reading it, he pulled a pen from the cup on his desk and made an addition, really more of a correction.

_To TB, my partner, friend, lover and wife, in order of occurrence, but not order of importance._

He tossed the pen on the desk and, in a flurry of action, he placed the pages back on the stack and returned the rubber bands to their previous positions before dropping the whole thing in a box, on top of his bobble-headed bobby, magic eight ball and mini Stanley cup.

While he hadn't wanted anyone else packing up his office, he had no problem delegating the task lugging the boxes through the Hoover to someone else. The following day, a courier service would be collecting the boxes and delivering them to their home. All but one, the box with the two-inch bundle of papers. That box he would take himself. Standing at the door, box in his hands, he paused to take a final look at what had been 'his' for the last ten years. With a slight shake of the head and a smile on his face, he caught the light switch with his elbow, pitching the office into darkness and left for the last time.

* * *

It wasn't often that he came home to a silent house. Usually, it annoyed him when he did. He loved the bustle of their daily life. It was like white noise to him, always hanging in the background, a reminder that he had the life he had always dreamed of, but never thought he would have.

This day, however, was not a typical day. He was still in a reflective mood and welcomed the slow return to reality. Dropping the box in the entryway, he grabbed the bundle of papers on top and headed to their home office. That two-inch bundle of pages had occupied the bottom drawer of his desk long before he became deputy director or even assistant deputy director. He was still a supervisory special agent when he pulled the last page from the printer, securing the whole bundle with the rubber bands that hadn't been removed until earlier in the day.

Shooting a quick glance at the clock, he saw he had a few hours until Brennan and the kids returned home. Jotting a quick note on one of Brennan's ever-present legal pads, he stretched out on the couch and began to read.

Three hours later, he heard the back door open and then slam shut, alerting him to his family's return. Quickly gathering the pages, he once again wrapped the bands around the stack. He dropped it on Brennan's desk, laid the handwritten note on top before going to greet his family.

* * *

Hours later, after a quick dinner, homework and parents' night at each of the kids' schools (which they had split up for), Booth was relieved that Brennan hadn't had a chance to go into their office. He wanted to explain what she would find there. So, while they went through their nighttime routines with a rhythm born of years spent together, he sought the words he needed.

"Hey, Bones, can you do me a favor?" He tossed his t-shirt in the hamper, closely followed by his jeans. Dressed only in boxers and socks striped in obnoxiously bright colors, he walked toward the bathroom door just as Brennan walked out.

"Of course, I can. What do you need me to do?" Her face was freshly scrubbed free of make-up, Booth's favorite look for her.

"When I was packing up my office today, I found something that I had completely forgotten about. I was wondering if you could look at it." He could see she had questions and was preparing to launch into interrogation mode. Hoping to head her off, he forged ahead. "I left it on your desk in the office. I'd rather you read it before I say anything else about it." He paused, hating to put any restrictions on her, but needing this one. "Just one more thing. Could you find time to read it when I'm not around? Maybe when I go to a hockey game, or when I take AJ to soccer practice. I just don't want to see your reaction while you're reading."

"I can do that. Thank you, Booth."

"For what? You're doing me the favor.

"This is obviously important to you. Thank you for sharing it with me. Thank you for trusting me with it."

He was touched that this woman, who claimed to not be a heart person, could read him so well. He pulled her into his arms, wrapping her into a hug, speaking through actions rather than words.

* * *

She fully intended to wait until the next time he was out of the house to read whatever it was that he wanted her to read. Her best intentions, however, couldn't hold up to her desire for knowledge. Sleep eluded her, knowing that there was a previously unknown, unshared piece of Booth on her desk, just waiting to be examined. As she listened to his even breathing, she justified, rationalized the decision to slide out of bed and into her office to begin reading.

She crept down the stairs, avoiding the squeaky tread, keeping the lights off until she reached her office. Walking over to her desk, she saw a page from a legal pad with Booth's familiar scrawl.

_Bones –_

_I'm not sure why it's important to me that you read this, I just know it is. I don't want this to be something that I didn't share with you. I've let you into every corner of my life. This shouldn't be any different._

_Love you –_

_B_

She had been expecting a letter or perhaps a diary or some other stream of consciousness writing. Instead, what she found looked and felt like a manuscript, similar in size to her own. Smiling at the woven-like appearance of the rubber bands' placement, she picked up the bundle and settled on the couch, preparing for, what Christine called, an all-nighter.

* * *

The house was still pitch black when Booth stirred several hours later. Reaching in his sleep, Booth's hand met cold sheets instead of his warm wife. Assuming she had gone to the bathroom, he waited a few minutes for her return. Just as he was drifting off again, he realized her side of the bed was still empty. As he began to rouse himself enough to go in search of her, he realized where she was – in the office, reading his, for lack of a better word, book. He should have known she wouldn't be able to resist. He had meant it when he said he didn't want to see her reactions while reading. He wasn't sure which would bother him more – her reactions to what he wrote or how he wrote it. Either way, he had no intention of seeking her out. She could come to him about it on her own. In the meantime, he would try to go back to sleep, as pointless as it might be.

* * *

Sunlight was beginning to peek through the mini-blinds when Brennan read the last word on the last page. She'd lost track of the number of times that she had stopped reading, blinded by the tears streaming down her face, only to be drawn in again. She had lost herself in the story of a soldier experiencing war for the first time and the loss that went with it. As she read, it was too easy to replace that soldier with her husband. How much had happened to her husband and the men around him, she wondered. Her heart hurt for them both, the soldier and the man who she was sure had inspired him.

Stacking the pages neatly, she brushed the remaining tears from her cheeks and returned to their bedroom. She expected to find him asleep, having never noticed her absence during the night. What she found instead was her husband propped against the headboard, her latest book abandoned next to him while he stared at the ceiling, apparently lost in thought.

"Hi."

"Hi. I didn't think it would take you so long to read it."

"I'm sorry. I know I promised I would wait, but-"

"It's fine. I should have known that asking you to wait was the equivalent of torture." He saw her flinch at the mention of torture and immediately wished he had chosen his words more carefully. "Just so you know, we don't have to talk about it. I just wanted you to read it. But, if you do want to talk, I'm here. I'm always here for you."

"I'm not ready to talk about it quite yet, but I do have a question. Did all of that happen to you?"

"Some of it. Other things happened to men that I served with." He could have continued, spelled out just which horrors were his and which were not, but he didn't want to push too far, too fast, a hard learned lesson about dealing with Temperance Brennan.

She nodded at the confirmation of what she had already suspected. "If you don't mind, I think I'll go to the lab early today. I'd like to spend some time in Limbo, if possible." Translation – I need to process what I just spent the last five hours reading. "Do you have any plans for your first day of retirement?"

He groaned. Somehow, in his worry, he had forgotten that he was, ugh, retired. "Uh, no, not yet. But I'm gonna find something to do. Sitting around the house all day is not an option."

With a smirk on her face at the thought of him doing nothing for an entire day, she gave him a kiss before heading to shower and start her day.

As he watched her go, he knew he should insist that she stay home, get some sleep, maybe even find something for them to do together. Instead, he gave her the space he knew she needed to process. Tugging on a t-shirt, he went down to the kitchen to make breakfast for his beautiful wife.

* * *

He puttered around the house, caught up on the laundry, reorganized the DVDs and Blu-rays and made a run to the grocery store. By mid-morning, he was utterly and completely bored. He considered looking for a project car, a classic American muscle car, but tucked that idea away for the time being.

After an hour in his man cave, flipping channels, never landing on one, he ventured into the corner of the basement no one ever entered. Filled with his and hers boxes from their past lives, he needed to make room for the boxes from his office. He shuffled and stacked, occasionally opening and then closing boxes once their contents had been determined. Here he found the proof that fate existed. Tucked away, in a box that was clearly marked "Booth" in Brennan's precise handwriting, was a smaller box. There were no identifying marks, but he knew what it contained.

Pulling the smaller box from the larger one, he returned to his man cave, setting the box on the mahogany coffee table. Elbows on knees, hands clasped, leaning forward, he stared at the box almost as if it housed a monster. Unable to resist the pull, he flicked the lid from the box and plunged a hand into its depths.

* * *

It had been a quiet evening, outwardly matching the day that each of them had experienced. Inwardly, their thoughts had been anything but quiet and peaceful. Now, after the kids were in bed, a bottle of wine shared, the events of the day dissected, they sat on the couch, each tucked into a corner, facing each other, the box from the basement resting between them.

"It started when I was in Afghanistan. I missed Parker and it wasn't like I could pick up the phone and call him whenever I wanted. I missed you, and well, there was nothing I could do about that. Every day I saw things, bad things, dark things that I thought I would never have to see again. I felt myself slipping into a dark, familiar hole. It was the same hole I fell into after my first stint in the Army.

I couldn't sleep. Whenever I closed my eyes, I was reliving all of the things I had seen and done. I had to do something, ya know. I had worked too hard to fall back into addiction. I needed a new way to deal with it. Was it PTSD? Maybe. Probably. The beginning of it, anyway. So, I called Gordon Gordon. There wasn't much he could do from DC, but he gave me a piece of advice."

Tapping the lid of the box, he continued, "This is the result."

Brennan watched as he removed the lid, reached in and brought out what looked like scraps of paper. Hesitantly, she reached for one, prepared to stop if he said the word. Latching onto the first piece her fingers brushed, she pulled it from his hand and began to read. With tear-filled eyes, she looked at him, unable to speak, not knowing what to say if she could.

"Good ol' Gordon Gordon suggested that I write everything down as a way to clear my head before bed. I started by filling notebooks, but I didn't always have one nearby. So, I would write on whatever scraps of paper were handy. I met Hannah and was able to put some positive thoughts on paper, too. By the time I got home from Afghanistan, I had enough to fill two or three shoeboxes. That's when I dumped everything in this box. I put the lid on it, slid it into the top of a closet and forgot about it."

He began to rifle through the box, looking not for a particular piece, but for something from a particular time. Finally spotting one, he snatched it from the box and handed it to Brennan. He watched as she read, tears no longer contained, but flowing down her cheeks.

"I forgot about it until things started to go bad with Hannah. And with you. That's when I started writing again, my feelings about Hannah, about you, the conflict I felt. Everything was so wrong during that time. The only time I could see it clearly was when it was in black and white, right in front of my face.

Then, I proposed to Hannah, and she turned me down and left. I was mad, so very mad. I was trying to work through it and failing miserably. I called Gordon Gordon again. Instead of writing, he suggested that I read. He said I should read every notebook, every scrap of paper in this box. I was supposed to see if time and distance had given me perspective on any of the events I'd written about. I think he was just trying to prove a point – that time and distance do offer perspective."

Brennan nodded, agreeing with Gordon Gordon, remembering all of the times she had removed herself from a situation in order to gain perspective.

"He also told me to sort them, but wouldn't tell me how. He only said that when I was ready, I would know. So, one Saturday morning, I sat down with the box and started reading and sorting. I sorted by location – Afghanistan, Somalia, Iraq, DC, and dozens of other places that I can't mention due to mission secrecy. I sorted by year. I sorted military and non-military. Each time, I ended up with meaningless piles. At that point, I was convinced that Gordon Gordon's psychobabble was garbage. I started tossing the piles back into the box, planning to dump the whole lot into the dumpster."

"What stopped you?" Brennan had been listening intently, interrupting only occasionally. Booth, her Booth, was revealing a hidden part of himself and she didn't want to miss a word. Sure, there was probably some anthropological significance that she could assign to this event, but she didn't care. The only significance to her was Booth and how these past events had affected him.

"I saw your name. At the top of the box, on the back of a business card, I saw your name. That's when I knew how to sort – Bones and not Bones. That's what my life comes down to – with you or without you."

Waving her toward him with a hand, he patted his thigh, wanting her to sit on his lap. She yielded to him, curling up against him, face buried in his neck, palm placed against his chest just above the steady beat of his heart. Rubbing her back in soothing circles, he whispered against her hair.

"You've read the book, the sanitized version of the box. If you ever want to read the source material or talk about any of it, just let me know. I've kept quiet about that part of my life for far too long. It's time for that to end."

* * *

_A/N - So, what did you think? Curiosity has been known to kill cats and anxious writers. Please, put me out of my misery by leaving a review in the little box below. As always, thanks for reading! ~ craftyjhawk_


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey, Bones, I'm home!"

Booth listened for a response and heard none. In fact, the house was completely silent. The kids were gone for the weekend. AJ was camping with a friend. Chrissie had tagged along with Jack and Angela to visit Michael at Berklee. Taking advantage of the kids' absence, he had made reservations at their favorite Italian restaurant. In his favorite suit, a gray Armani three-piece, he would look his best for their date. He knew Brennan loved when he wore that suit.

She was home. Her car was in the garage. He decided that she must be buried in her next book and went to look for her. He draped the dry cleaning over the back of the couch before heading to their office. Years of experience had taught him that startling her when she was neck-deep in writing never ended well for him. He called out again to give her some warning.

"Bones! I'm home. Our reservations aren't until-"

He stepped into the office and stopped in his tracks. Curled in a corner of the couch was his wife, sobbing into a pillow, clutching a scrap of paper in her left hand. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the box, exactly where he had placed it two months earlier. He had seen her glance at the box, stare at it, contemplating its contents. Once or twice, she stood by it, almost reaching for the lid. Each time he thought she would open it. As far as he knew, she hadn't until today.

Striding across the room, his heart broke as he saw how distraught she was.

"Oh, Baby, come here."

Reaching out, he took her hand and pulled her to her feet. Stepping around her, he took her spot on the couch and pulled her to his lap.

"Shh. It's okay, Bones. Whatever it was, it was a long time ago. Shh, Baby, please stop crying."

He continued to whisper reassurances as he stroked her back, trying to calm her. Taking her left hand, he gently pried her fingers open and plucked the page from her grasp. He wouldn't know how to fix this until he knew what had upset her. As her rubbed her back, she began to calm down. As she calmed, he read the crumpled page, dreading its contents.

_Iraq_

_Andy died. It took a long time for it to seem real. We were on patrol, a tiny abandoned village. God, I hated going on patrol. Nothing good happens on patrol. Andy was walking 3 meters to my right. 3 meters. The dogs had been through. The road had been swept for mines. The EOD guys had removed 2 or 3 up the road, ahead of us. We were out in the open, on high alert. Andy was walking next to me. He took a step and froze when he heard a click. I heard it, too, and froze right along with him. I told Andy to stay still and I started yelling, for my CO, the EOD guys, anyone who could help Andy. My CO ordered the rest of us back while one of the EOD guys slowly made his way to Andy. He must have thought he could disarm it, because the next thing I knew, he was on his knees, carefully moving the sand away from Andy's foot. I think we were all holding our breath while he moved with painstaking precision. Just when I started to relax, sure that the EOD guy had this, there was an explosion. I can still see it. I can still hear the ringing in my ears. They were just pieces, Andy and the EOD guy. I guess someone like Bones had to decide which pieces belonged to whom. In the meantime, Andy was dead. And the next day, we were back on patrol._

"Is this the first time you've opened the box?"

She nodded against his chest.

"I'm so sorry, Bones. I hate that the first thing you read was this. I was, what, twenty, twenty-one, when that happened. I was a scared kid and Andy's death cemented the reality of war in my mind. Any idealistic thoughts I had were killed that day, right along with Andy. That was the day I grew up.

I thought about Andy a lot over the years. He was about my age, so I would compare my life to what he might have been doing, had he lived. I was sad that he died so young, but I thought I had dealt with it. In Afghanistan, the guys I was training were Andy's age and younger. After we lost a couple of them, everything about Andy's death came back. That's when I wrote this."

She pulled away, just enough to see his eyes. Smiling at her, he thumbed the tears from her cheeks. He hated to see her hurting over something from his past, but he had promised to let her into this dark corner of his world.

"I promise, not everything in the box is this awful. Some of it is just boring. And some of those scraps hold the bits and pieces that got me through seven months in Afghanistan. They're about Parker, Pops and you. Even though I thought I was moving on, there were days that memories of you were the only things that kept me going. Even after I met Hannah, even though I wouldn't admit it, you helped me survive Afghanistan."

Tangling his hand in her hair, he kissed her deeply, trying to erase the pain she felt.

Taking the page back from him, she waved it back and forth.

"This is why you chose the name Andrew, isn't it?"

He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. "Well, yeah. I was insistent that we not use Seeley. You were just as insistent that we use Joseph. I didn't like the sound of Joey Booth."

"You mean Joseph Booth." She corrected him, more out of habit than anything else.

"Nicknames, Bones, nicknames. He would have been Joey. Anyway, that's why I agreed to use it as his middle name. Look, Chrissie is named for the two most important women in your life, your mom and Angela. I only had one strong male influence growing up, Pops."

"By the time Andrew was born, Jared and Padme had Henry."

"Yeah." He sighed. "They had Henry. We could have honored Pops and Hank Lutrell with the name, but they didn't give us the chance."

"You're never going to forgive him for that, are you?" She smiled, amused that he felt possessive of the name.

"Forgive? Sure, already done. Forget it?" He shook his head. "Probably not. Since we couldn't name him for Pops, I thought maybe we could honor one of my fallen comrades like Rebecca and I did with Parker. That's why I chose Andrew."

"I am pleased that we could honor your friend."

"Even if you didn't know that's what we were doing?"

"Even then. Andy was obviously important to you. I find it sad that he died without a mate or progeny. While Andrew is our son, not his, I find it appropriate to honor him in such a way."

"Thanks, Bones. Um, Babe, I know I said I didn't care if you went through the box on your own, but, maybe for now, we should do it together."

"I think that is wise. Having you explain the context seems to have helped, although it is quite a bit to process."

"Take your time. The box will be here when you're ready and, more importantly, so will I. So… you still up for dinner? Our reservations are at seven thirty, so we have," looking at his watch, "two hours."

"Yes, I would enjoy going out tonight. I only need a half hour to prepare, however. Do you have any suggestions for how we should spend the rest of the time?"

Giving her a nudge, a hint to stand, he stood after her, wrapping his arms around her.

"Why, yes, Dr. Brennan, I believe I do. If you'll follow me…"

Taking her hand, he led her up the stairs, to their bedroom, to show her exactly what he had in mind.

* * *

_A/N – Hi, guys! I hope you enjoyed this one. LMM has been pretty insistent over the last few days and these two chapters are the result. _

_I apologize for any military inaccuracies in this or future chapters. It is not my wish to offend anyone. I strive of accuracy in my fics. This one, to me, however, is about 'feel' more than it is about 'fact.' So, if things seem a little off, please keep that in mind._

_I'm placing this about 15 years in the future, which puts it in line with my 'The Results in the Change' timeline. _

_As always, thanks for reading and reviewing. You have no idea how much it feeds the muse. LMM is very appreciative, as am I. _


	3. Chapter 3

After pausing to admire the heavy blanket of snow that covered all she could see, Brennan carried the two glasses of wine she had just poured to their living room.

"Christine brought home the order form for her graduation announcements today."

"I thought we had already ordered those."

She handed one glass to her husband before setting the other down on the glass coffee table. "We ordered her cap and gown several months ago. I don't understand why the announcements are ordered at a later date, but Christine informed me 'that's how it's done.'"

"I had forgotten how expensive it was to have a kid graduate. I think it's more expensive now that it was when Parker graduated."

"It does seem to be." She leaned down to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "I'll be back in a moment."

"Where are you going?" He reached out and grabbed her hand, preventing her from leaving the room.

"I'm just getting something from the office."

"Hurry back." He said with a smile as he released her hand.

Entering the office, walking toward the box, she realized it hadn't gotten any easier to lift the lid and reach her hand in. In the months since she had first opened it, she had gone through this routine several times – wait for the kids to go to bed, pour a glass of wine and pick a random scrap of paper. This time, however, she decided to tweak the process just a bit. Instead of taking a piece from near the top, she plunged her hand deep into the box, near the bottom, and withdrew a spiral notebook. Without hesitation, she turned and walked back to the living room, settling on the couch next to him.

"One of the notebooks? Are you sure, Bones? There's some really dark stuff in there. You sure you want to tackle that tonight?"

"All of this," she patted the notebook, "helped to form who you are now. I can't be afraid of it."

"Okay, then. Whenever you're ready…"

Thumbing through the notebook, she stopped on a page that seemed heavier than the others. Flipping to the back side of the page, she saw an envelope taped there. Unsure of the significance, she turn back to the front of the page and began reading.

_Afghanistan_

_Today was my Skype day with Parker. Talking to him is always the best part of my week. It grounds me, reminds me why I'm here and that I have a reason to go home._

_I missed my last two talks with him, thanks to a mission. The big wigs here have decided that it would be a waste not to use my particular skill set while I'm here. It goes way beyond the scope of training men and not what I signed up for. I have no choice but to follow orders._

_Back to Parker - he was so excited today, hyped up over his last hockey game. I wish I had a picture of the look of pride on his face when he told me he scored a goal. I wish I could be there to see him play. Rebecca has promised to record them, so I can watch them when I get home. Parker said I should be expecting a letter from Rebecca with his hockey pictures. I think he feels like a NHL player. Instead of the usual pictures, Rebecca let him get trading cards, complete with his stats on the back. I can't wait to get that letter. I need a new picture of him. The one I carry with me is more than a little crumpled. _

_Five months down, seven to go_

"You told me your job was purely administrative."

"I didn't want you to worry."

"You had returned from Afghanistan. It was after the fact. Why would I have worried?"

With a sly smile, he bumped her shoulder with his own. "I don't know, maybe because you loved me."

"You didn't know that then."

"I know and I'm sorry. I don't want to talk about that now." He wrapped his arm around her, pulled her in closer. "Remember when I said that Pops, Parker and you helped me to survive Afghanistan? Talking to Parker, Skyping with him, that was as close as I got to something that was pure and good and innocent while I was there. I needed that contact with him as much as I needed air, food and water. It was my survival."

"I'm grateful you were able to talk to him like that. I know that I -"

With a finger lightly touching her lips, he silenced her. "Shh. We're not talking about that tonight. This is about Parker, right?" She nodded. He jutted his chin toward the page. "You should keep reading. The next entry is connected to the first one."

She nodded, he removed his finger. She read on.

_Afghanistan_

_Rebecca's letter arrived today. I didn't even read it at first, I couldn't pull myself away from Parker's pictures. He's grown so much since I left. He's starting to look less like a little boy and more like a teen. _

_When I had memorized his picture and his stats, I starting reading Rebecca's letter. I understand now why she wrote me instead of having Parker do it. She wants to take my son and move him to London! Like hell I'm going to let her do that! She said they might be gone before I get home. I don't why she thinks she can make a decision like that without talking to me about it, but I intend to fight her. I'm hoping to trade some phone time with one of the guys, because this can't be settled through letters and emails and I'm not going to waste my Skype time on her. That's for Parker._

_Six months down, six to go_

"I know this story."

"No, you know parts of this story. I never told you why I didn't fight harder to keep Parker in DC."

"No, you never did. I never realized that." She paused, wondering why she had never pursued that with him. "What exactly did Rebecca's letter say?"

"You can read it. It's in the envelope taped to that page, or I can tell you."

"This is your story. I want to hear it in your words, not Rebecca's."

"Okay. Basically, her firm had been invited to submit a design for a big project in London, the Hargrove Tower. The partners picked Rebecca the lead architect on the project. It would be her design they submitted. For once, Rebecca was right. It was too big of an opportunity for her to turn down."

"That is a big honor. A project of that importance would normally be undertaken by a senior partner, I would think."

"Usually, yeah. The clients insisted on a 'fresh eye' for this project. The partners picked her. Anyway, Rebecca had laid out a timeline in her letter – four months to design and prepare the bid, two months for the clients to make a decision. If her design was picked, she would have to move to London immediately to oversee the project."

Brennan looked at the entry she had just read. "When you received Rebecca's letter, you had six months remaining in Afghanistan. Her timeline allowed for six months."

"Exactly. That's what I thought, too. They would be leaving just as I was arriving. Look at the first entry you read."

"Oh, one month had already elapsed by the time you received her letter. They would be gone before you were back in DC. Something must have changed. Parker was here when you returned."

"That's the next part of the story. In the most convoluted trade ever, I was able to get phone time the next day. I called Rebecca fuming, ready to rip her to shreds. She remained calm, kept asking me to be quiet so that she could explain. After a minute of screaming at the top of my lungs, I finally heard her and stopped. She had known I would be upset. She spent three weeks talking to the partners, trying to reach a compromise in case her design was picked. She did it. She got them to agree. If her design was picked, they would allow her to stay in DC for an additional three months. She assured them she could do all of the preliminary work from here. She agreed to travel to London once or twice a month, if necessary. She and Parker would still be in DC when I returned and we would talk then about where he would live."

"So, when you returned a month later instead of six months, Rebecca had, what, seven months before she would have to move to London."

"Yeah. When Rebecca's design was picked, we should have talked about who Parker was going to live with, but we didn't. I was still with Hannah at the time." He winced, wishing that Hannah didn't have to be part of this conversation. "Parker had gone from hating Hannah, to thinking she was cool, to hating her again. Because it was so difficult for the two of them to be together, I would only have Parker on weekends when she was gone. I should have put him first. Instead, I'm ashamed to say, that I let her drive a wedge between us. She resented the time I spent with him. I started skipping weekends with Parker altogether. In addition to hating Hannah, he was pretty angry with me."

"I remember asking you once how Parker was doing in school and you changed the subject. That's why, isn't it?"

"I probably didn't know the answer." He sighed. "By the time Rebecca was supposed to move to London, Hannah and I had split up. I was in a bad place, you know that. Parker was still mad at me. I thought that maybe he would be better off in London, away from me. I didn't fight to keep him here. I still regret that decision. None of us had any idea how long she would be in London."

"She did let him visit as often as his school schedule allowed. I know it's not the same, but…"

"There's something else I didn't tell you. When she moved back here for Parker's senior year? It wasn't because Parker asked. He never did, just assumed she would say no."

"Booth, what did you do?"

"Parker called me, told me he wanted to come home. Home. London was never home for him. It was just where his mom worked. Anyway, I called Rebecca and asked her to send him to us. She could stay in London. It wouldn't affect her career. Of course, she said no. She couldn't be away from her baby. I hinted that I could fly over, get Parker and bring him home, in effect, kidnap him. I might have told her that I could keep her in court until his eighteenth birthday, when he could decide for himself. She must have taken me seriously, because a week later, she called. The partners agreed to move her to DC for a year." He paused as he considered what he would say next. "It just might be the most selfless thing she ever did for him. I'll always be grateful to her for that."

"She did return to London after that year. Her career appears to be undamaged. I suppose now that she has been made a partner, she won't return from London."

"Probably not. Parker will always know that his mom chose her career over him. I hate that for him."

"He has you, Booth. You can't make up for Rebecca's faults, but you have proven that he is a priority with you, that you will always support him in his choices."

He chuckled. "Yeah, even when he decided to move across the country."

"You know that the research position at Cal Tech was a unique opportunity for him."

"I know and I'm proud of him. He knows that."

"I'm going to return this notebook to the box and then go to bed. Are you ready to go up?"

"Nah, not yet. I think I'll call Parker first. It's still early in California." He squeezed her tightly before she stood. "Thanks, Bones, you always know just what to say. You're amazing."

She laughed softly. "I am quite remarkable." She leaned over, kissing him tenderly on the lips, before leaving the room.

Picking up his cell phone, he dialed Parker's number and waited to hear his son's voice.

"Hey, Parker, it's Dad. How are things there? … We're all fine, I just wanted to hear your voice. What's new in sunny California? …"

* * *

_A/N - Hello, readers! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. I always checking in with Parker. Just as a warning or clarification, chapters won't be chronological in this story. I'll try to be clear if they are fifteen, twenty or thirty years in the future or somewhere in between. As always, thanks for reading! ~ craftyjhawk_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N – I apologize for the extremely long delay in updating this (or any of my fics). Real life has been hectic. My muse has been on walkabout. Neither are conducive to writing. Thanks to a nudge from a reader and some inspiration from the Season 10 premier (wasn't it fantastic?), I give you this. Hope you like it. ~ craftyjhawk_

While AJ went in search of his mom to tell her about the three goals he scored in his soccer game, Booth stopped by the kitchen counter to look at the mail Brennan had left out for him. Picking up the cream-colored envelope on top of the pile, he flipped it over to see the return address. Smiling when he recognized it, he set aside and looked through the rest. He saw nothing that required his immediate attention until he reached the bottom of the pile. There, he found a plain white envelope, no name, no address, just a field of white. He had seen envelopes like this many times in the years since he had given Brennan 'the box.' He had found them with the mail, on his nightstand, even in his favorite chair in his man cave. He recognized the significance – she had chosen something to read. He picked up the first envelope along with the last and followed the voices of his wife and son coming from her office.

"Congratulations, Andrew, that's excellent! Did you father record the game for me to watch later?"

"I think so, Mom, but you need to double check with him."

Booth took that as his cue to enter the office. "Yes, Bones," he leaned down to kiss her, "I recorded it for you. It's a good thing, too. It might have been his best game ever."

"Thanks, Dad. I'm just glad you were there to see it. I think I'll going to go jump in the shower. I'm going out with the guys tonight. It's going to be a late night, so I'll probably go back to the dorm." He turned and left the office, leaving his parents smiling in his wake.

"I know it might sound selfish, Bones, but I'm really glad he decided to stay here and go to Georgetown. With Parker in California and Christine in Atlanta, it's nice to have AJ so close to home."

"You do realize that he probably won't stay here for law school, don't you?"

"I know, which is why I'm going to enjoy having him close to home now." Booth glanced at his hand, remembering the envelopes he was holding. "I see that we got something in the mail from Daisy. What is it?"

"Booth, if you want to know, just open it."

He slid the other envelope he was holding into the back pocket of his jeans. He wouldn't be opening it until AJ had left for the evening. Turning his attention back to the cream-colored envelope, he slid his finger under the flap, along the top edge. Once open, he removed the contents, finding another envelope with his family's names handwritten in calligraphy.

"Daisy never does anything halfway, does she?" he chuckled as he removed the contents of the inner envelope. He blinked away a tear as he realized what he held. "It's Lance's graduation invitation." He brushed his fingers across the embossed lettering of the invitation, pausing when he reached the name of the school, The Julliard School. "Sweets would be so proud."

Brennan rose from her desk chair to stand beside her husband. She wrapped an arm around his back as she laid her head on his shoulder. "Do you think he would be disappointed that Lance didn't go into medicine or another science?"

"No, Bones, not at all. You've heard Lance play. He's one of the most talented pianist I've ever heard. Sweets would be very proud. And he would be happy that Lance is doing something that he loves. I just wish Sweets were here to see it."

"You believe that Sweets is looking down, watching his son. So, in a way, maybe he is here to see it."

"Thank you, Bones. That was exactly the right thing to say." He put the invitation back in its envelope, before placing it on Brennan's desk. "So, I guess we will be heading to New York for a graduation next month."

Before Brennan could respond, AJ came bounding in the room, a freshly showered, slightly taller version of his father. "Hey, folks, I've gotta run. The guys are meeting me at the dorm in fifteen minutes. I'm already going to be late. I'll be back for dinner this weekend." With a kiss on his mother's cheek and a pat on his father's shoulder, he was out the door before either of them could say a word.

"Well, there goes Hurricane AJ, always in such a hurry!"

"That hasn't changed since he took his first steps, Booth, I doubt it will change now." Brennan laughed to herself, seeing the same trait in Andrew that Booth didn't see in himself.

Booth pulled the other envelope from his back pocket, holding it up for Brennan to see. "Now that the kid is gone, do you want to open this? Or would you rather wait until later?"

"I believe I am ready now. I'm anxious to read it, although I don't understand why. Maybe it's because it has been quite a while since we have done this."

"That's probably it. C'mon." Grabbing her hand, he pulled her toward her office couch. "Let's do this."

So many times over the past eight years, they had found themselves here, in her office, reading these scraps. He always sat at one end, she curled up next to him, the two of them as close as possible in order to comfort and reassure each other.

Booth handed Brennan the envelope once she was settled on the couch and waited. He always followed her lead, her pace at these times. After a minute or two, she opened the envelope and removed the paper inside. It was yellow, apparently ripped from a legal pad and showed signs of having been crumpled and then smoothed out. Taking a deep breath, she began to read.

_Afghanistan_

_Patrolled a village about 30 km from base. It was supposed to be a routine patrol. We were cautious, as always, never knowing if there would be a hostile hiding around the next corner. We were doing our jobs. From across the street, one of the villagers yells "Fahran," the name of one of my trainees. Fahran yells back at him, then tells me they are from the same village. Fahran's village is 300 hundred km from where we are. What are the odds that 2 boys from the same tiny village end up staring at each other across the street 300 km from home? In Afghanistan, I think those odds are slim. What we very quickly found out was they were not only on opposite sides of the street, they were on opposite sides of the war. In an instant, Fahran's friend had swung his rifle into his hands and started firing at us. That's when the sniper fire started. We were pinned down next to a café with few options. I was screaming in my radio for evac. The chopper was supposed to be nearby. Fahran went down. Another trainee went down. Minutes later, minutes that seemed like hours, I heard the thump thump of the chopper blades. I threw Fahran over my shoulder while yelling at the guys to make a break for the chopper. The two more experienced guys covered our rear, another picked up the second injured guy and we hauled ass. Fahran died in route. Another guy that I carried out didn't make it. Another kid that was too green to be here in the first place. Two months down, ten to go. _

Brennan's heart broke for her husband. The similarity between this incident and the one with Teddy Parker was painfully obvious. For Booth to have to experience it twice seemed more than unfair to her. She looked at him, expecting to see sadness or even tears, but what she saw was nothing like that. He was almost smiling, even chuckling a little. At her shocked look, he rushed to explain.

"It was sad, Bones. At the time, it was very sad. It was like reliving Teddy's death all over again. I'm smiling because, out of all of the papers you could have pulled out of the box today, you picked this one. Let me tell you the rest of the story, then you'll understand."

Brennan turned slightly more toward Booth, so that she was looking directly at his face. She nodded at him when she was ready and waited.

"Several months after Fahran's death, I was walking across base, I don't remember why now. Anyway, I walked past a few of the Afghan troops and heard Fahran's name and the Pashto word for baby. I didn't understand most of what was being said, but his name was enough to catch my attention. I stopped and asked if they were talking about Fahran. The one doing most of the speaking said he was Fahran's cousin and had just received a letter from home. Fahran's wife has recently had a baby, a boy, who Fahran didn't live long enough to see."

"And, that reminds you of Sweets. He died before Lance was born."

"Exactly, Bones. It's funny that you picked that page on the same day we got Lance's invitation." He smiled at her as he thought for a moment. "I'm past being sad about Fahran and Sweets. I know they would be proud of their sons. I'm just grateful that we have been part of Lance's life. It's like we were able to keep a piece of Sweets with us."

"I'm very thankful for that, too. Sweets was family, as are Daisy and Lance." Preparing to change topics, she paused before continuing. "I've been thinking."

"Uh oh, should I be worried?" He smirked, knowing that she would understand that he was joking.

"No worry needed. I thought that we could take an extended trip when we go to Lance's graduation. We could fly from New York to Atlanta to see Christine. I'm sure she can squeeze in some time for us between shifts at the hospital."

"I don't like that they use interns as slave labor. She looks more exhausted every time we see her."

"Booth, we've talked about this before. There is nothing you can do about it. It's just the way the system works. She will survive it and probably be a better doctor for it. Now, back to what I was saying. After we visit with Christine, I thought we could fly to California to see Parker, Charlotte and the girls. It has been a very long time since we played Grandma and Grandpa."

"Great idea, babe. As much as I miss Christine and Parker, I hate that we see Emma and Brennan so rarely. Parker said they are playing t-ball this spring, maybe we can see a game or two while we're there."

"That sounds like fun. I've missed them, too. I've been planning some activities to do with them while we are there, some science experiments."

"Bones, they won't be five until the end of the month. Why don't we just plan some fun outings? We could even go to a museum or two. Let's just wait a while on the experiments."

"If you think that's best, but they are entering kindergarten this fall. They need to be prepared."

"They are smart girls. They will be more than prepared. They'll probably be smarter than the teacher." He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "That's settled, then. New York, Atlanta, SoCal. We can start making arrangements tomorrow." He grimaced when his stomach growled loudly. "Are you hungry, because obviously, I am. I was thinking-"

"Uh oh, should I be worried?" Her eyes twinkled as she joked.

"Good one, Bones, very funny. I was thinking we could order Thai. We haven't had that in a while. What do you think?"

"Sounds good. The usual?" she asked as she picked up her phone.

"You know me so well. You call it in, I'll go pick it up. Be back soon." With a peck on her cheek, he was out the door, mimicking AJ's earlier actions.


End file.
